


Healing Waters

by LittlePeony



Category: Led Zeppelin
Genre: Blood and Injury, M/M, Naked Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-20
Updated: 2020-07-20
Packaged: 2021-03-04 23:41:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25404808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LittlePeony/pseuds/LittlePeony
Summary: After a show, Jonesy takes a hurt Bonham to his hotel to patch him up.
Relationships: John Bonham/John Paul Jones
Comments: 3
Kudos: 21





	Healing Waters

There was a box of bandages and ointment in the cabinet behind the mirror. It was funny, really. He'd begun packing them not too long ago, and they were sorely needed- all the scrapes and scratches and the blood, all tender. But the person who always ended up with the sores had never even thought about bringing such supplies. 

Jonesy did. 

"Here, sit." The tawny commanded, motioning to the bed with a nod as he opened the package of bindings. 

Bonham grumbled, awkwardly holding his hands that he'd just washed and dried. Or, dried as well as he could. Even through a daze of alcohol, they stung as if they'd been laid siege by fire ants from the soap and the pressure.

It made John Paul frown a bit as he sat down on the floor, placing the medical supplies to the side and taking the time to hold and look over the drummer's hands. 

"I don't know how you go on playing like this-" He tisked, picking out a shard of wood, making Bonham hiss and curse. "Sorry. But I do think we should have a word with Page and Grant about the set list. You shouldn't be doing this for half an hour every show." 

The brunet sighed, blinking tiredly. "Kids like it." He grunted, looking down as Jonesy inspected the outside edge of his large paws. 

They always got the worst of it. When performing Moby Dick, Bonzo would throw the sticks away, (sometimes they would already be broken), and use his hands to play. He was furious then- a whirlwind, doing what three men could hardly keep up with. And in that tangle of beats and timing, he would miss the center, and instead hit the rims, cutting the skin there open. The cymbals, too, were known to slice, and even break- sending shards flying through the air like a grenade.

Blood stained much of the kit, and after the show, a fresh pair of sticks were slathered as well. Between numbers Bonham would get red over his shirt or pants, trying to wipe the liquid away. He wore black a lot now, to hide the gore. 

"The kids like other things." The bass player chided, getting the ointment and dabbling it over the raw cuts and blisters. "If you keep this up, you'll not be able to play at all." 

John Henry didn't have the energy or the want to think about all this for much longer. The two were both layered in a fine sheen of the summer swelter and sweat, worn out and exhausted from the night's set. It seemed like the more they travelled, the more places they went, the more people expected. And, well, in those moments, those infinite seconds of being stuck in a song and the adrenaline and the roaring of a crowd, it was like the band all felt that they could continue into the next years without halting. 

Afterwards, it was always a different story. 

Another hiss and a jerk away, wincing. John Paul looked regretful for the infliction of pain immidiately after, from the look of regret the smaller gave. So sad blues, shining their apologies. Bonham let a sigh that smelled like barley and age and alcohol. 

"Sorry-" said fast, then hesitation. "... 'm a bit tender." Greens looked up from now bandaged hands to the door. "... The blokes booked us a few blocks down... I should get to going..." 

Jonesy had taken up disappearing to his own hotel not long ago. Didn't like the girls and the fuss and the partying and the havoc that the other three brought. 

... Or, at least, the other two. 

So he shook his head. "No, you can stay here. You won't make it to the elevator." Before Bonham could say a word to fight against the statement, though, Jonesy looked suddenly to a different door. One that was open and had yellow florescent light spilling from it. 

He smiled, just a little, and grabbed the medical supplies with a certain look to his face that was sure and sly and almost comical. "I'll be back." He mumbled, going into the bathroom. 

The drummer, through a haze of wanting sleep and tipsy drunkenness, heard the metallic clicking of the mirror's cabinet. But then he hear a new sound, but a familiar one- the sliding of a shower curtain, the handle squeaking to let water pour out a faucet and the splashing of the stuff hitting the bottom of the tub. 

Bonham was a little intrigued. A shower? At this time of night? It had to have been around three or so. 

He then heard something softer, more muted, something falling to the floor, and then bare feet padding their way to the door. 

The brunet just stared. The soft glow from the bathroom on a pale, naked body that peeked out and beckoned him in. 

"Come on- let's get all the stage grime off." 

At first, he was worried about showering. After all, he'd just gotten fresh wrappings on his hands. But as it turned out, Jonesy had ran a bath instead, and wouldn't let Bonzo touch a thing. The bassist insisted on doing it himself. 

"You sure 'm not sandwiching you?" Bonzo asked, turning his tired eyes to look behind his shoulder. He could see the white-tiled wall and the creamy skin against it, reddish brown hair contrasting with calm warm blue. 

"I'm fine- I told you that before." Jonesy hummed, concentrated on how his hands worked. One massaging knotted muscles on the drummer's neck, the other making soothing sudsy circles with a wash cloth over scapula and tendon. "Relax, really." 

The brunet grumbled out a sigh, but closed his eyes and tried to let the tension he held in his muscles. He focused on how those hands on him felt, and then was surprised to feel himself sigh. 

"Good. Now, move up and lean back a little." 

Bonham did as he was told, pressed his back into the smaller, felt his own head lean against chest as Jonesy took the tiny handheld shower head, rinsing off the brown strands until the water turned it black. Then he took the bottle of shampoo he packed for himself, and massaged it in, smirking as the man under him hummed, content. 

When they both stepped out and dried off as well as they could, their weariness had set in completely. The drummer found his eyes so willing to droop that he was led to the bed by the bass player's guiding hand, blind and clumsy. 

But he had enough sense about him to know how bed sheets functioned, and his hands weren't so sore that he could throw them back, bring in Jonesy's damp body close, and lay both of themselves down on the clean bedding, smelling sweet shampoo and soap and each other, chest to back, Jonesy tenderly moved one healing paw over his heart, and thumbed the spot over the skin of a wrist to feel a pulse. And once that lulled him to sleep, Bonham finally let his own worn out body rest as well.


End file.
